


Declaration

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Dark, Dark Will, Episode: s02e10 Naka-Choko, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Murder Husbands, Roleplay Logs, Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: "I suppose we have a decision to make," Will says as he meets Hannibal's eyes.[s2 ep10 AU scene, Hannibal follows Freddie to Will's house and subdues her as she tries to flee.]





	Declaration

**Author's Note:**

> We decided to bang out this prompt while I was visiting ReallyMissCoffee. This idea is from [pragnificent](http://pragnificent.tumblr.com/post/172950295851/this-is-actually-darker-than-anything-i-would-have) over on tumblr, so thanks for sharing! <3 We did alter it a bit, but it accomplishes the same goal (we think/hope). 
> 
> **Disclaimer** : This is another merrythoughts & ReallyMissCoffee production. In case you don't know us, just a heads up: this is written first and foremost as an alternating roleplay between us which doesn't necessarily translate smoothly into an easily digestible or traditional fic format. At times we can be pretentious, repetitive and annoyingly wordy, but we're not going to change so please forgo any "constructive criticism" regarding the format. We are choosing to share our work and if you like it, you like it, if not, press the back button and try something else as we have no interest in attempting to fic-ify our stories.

Miss Lounds is becoming a problem. Through the grapevine, Hannibal hears whispers, and as much as he enjoys Miss Lounds' particular style of journalism when it pertains to him and his work, she is beginning to see just a little too much. Her life depends on her vision. Blind, she may live. Aware and alert it is another matter entirely.

Yet when he goes to her hotel - his plastic suit in the trunk of his car - he arrives just in time to see her walking out to her vehicle. Bad timing does not equate to a missed opportunity though, as instead of giving up, Hannibal merely observes her, curious, and then puts his car into gear. She drives off and though he places quite a few car lengths between them, he follows after her.

At first he is intending to learn her patterns, or to find a place where he can silence her for good. As he drives, however, he notices that more and more, her path is taking her out of Baltimore. Curious, wondering if she has been informed of a crime that has not yet gone through to the police, he follows her. He has the time.

Though as she takes the exit out of Baltimore that ultimately leads to Wolf Trap, Hannibal begins to understand. Perhaps it is not a call she's operating off of after all.

It's not.

Nearly an hour later, after watching her park from a safe distance away, Hannibal watches her slow progression through Will's yard. He watches as she tries his door, then - barring that - goes to his shed instead. While his vision is slightly-obscured, it does not take him much time at all to see the way she crouches, and understanding flares.

Hannibal's halfway out of his vehicle (hidden behind an outcropping of trees) when Will arrives back home. And, quite curious, Hannibal stills, watching Will as he happens across the scene - Miss Lounds' car in his yard, footsteps leading away - and then acts. Hannibal watches his steps lighten, watches the way he hastens to the shed, and his interest piques.

* * *

Will is wrapped up in his nicer coat, scarf around his neck and tucked in. It's what he'd worn when he'd dragged Randall Tier over to Hannibal's and unceremoniously laid him out on Hannibal's dining room table as an offering. The layers of clothing combat the bite in the air, but there is a chill that has settled into his bones. Hannibal had been pleased - _satisfied_ \- by his offering. Hannibal, master puppeteer, still pulling on the strings and making Will dance. Making them _all_ dance, really.

It had felt righteous to picture Hannibal's face as his fists crashed down against bone...

He'd seen Freddie's vehicle parked in his driveway. Will had then parked along the road and got out of the car, steeling himself for this encounter. She'd always been a busy bee, could never keep her nose out of things. It would probably be her downfall. One step too close, one question or click of her camera too much. She'd already had a close run-in with Stammets, gotten a cop killed for her nosiness, too.

Freddie Lounds is a pest.

He sees footsteps leading to his door and then out to the barn. Bitch could obviously pick a lock. It would have been necessary in her line of aggressive tabloid journalism. Will walks quietly around the perimeter, heading to a back entrance. He knows what is locked up there, what's hanging and what's packaged away in a freezer. He's hoping he can reach her in time and make her listen. Maybe for once she'll actually _want_ the truth.

Will has already granted Freddie an interview. There is no reason for her to be here unless she's sniffing around. There is irritation that she can't mind her own business, but he knows she doesn't work like that. Anything potentially scandalous _is_ her business.

Hanging in his barn is Tier's beast-suit. He'd separated the beast from the boy. He'd then cut up that boy and made him a monument, made him into the beast he'd always felt he was. Will had played at Hannibal -- making a tableau. But he hadn't meant to disrespect or humiliate Randall Tier. Tier had attacked him first and Will suspects Hannibal had directed Tier his way. It's the only reason that makes any sense.

Will hadn't killed Ingram. Hannibal had sought to give him another chance. Well, it makes it easier to deceive Hannibal, so Will can't find himself too displeased. Tier wouldn't have stopped. Will has stopped him. He's done a little good.

He sees the flash from Freddie's camera underneath the barn's back door. Irritation streaks through him. It's trespassing. An invasion of privacy. Freddie being Freddie. When he strains, he hears her fiddling -- likely attempting to get into the freezer because she can't help herself. Will slips in carefully. He watches the cooler open and a plume of cold fog escape.

He watches her rifle through the various packaged meat. And when she picks one up and realizes that it happens to be Tier's lower jaw, the horror that fills her face is almost comical. Their eyes meet and she's panting in terror. Will steps behind the plastic sheeting as she goes, predictably, for a gun.

"There really is a very good explanation for all of this," Will starts.

"I don't want to hear it," Freddie exclaims, her voice shaking as her gun points at him.

"Not just a little bit curious?"

"Get away from the door," she answers.

With a gloved hand, he parts the plastic and reveals himself.

"I can't let you go, Freddie."

It's the truth and the truth only causes her to shake in terror more. _Not so bold now, are you?_

"Not 'till you've heard what I have to say," Will adds on.

He steps closer.

"I know you're scared." Will's voice is softer, but not warm, not like he's trying to pacify something he actually cares about. "You only have to be scared a moment longer."

His hand is outstretched. "Give me the gun."

She shakes and shoots. Will ducks and rolls over a workshop table. He lands hard but bounds back up and chases after her. She struggles. He wrestles to have the gun pointed anywhere but at him. It fires again as she screams and her beanie is pulled off, red hair wild like as she pulls something out of her pocket. It's likely pepper spray. Immediately Will turns his head away as she sprays. It affords her the chance to run out of the door, his hand blindly reaching out and pulling her hair. She stills gets away.

Will is breathing harshly, adrenaline shooting through him. She can't get away. She can't fuck up this plan.

* * *

Hannibal leaves the car then. He does not dress in his suit - though he could - for this is not _his_ kill, now. Instead he is careful to follow Will's footprints in the snow, and seeing as Will is approaching the shed from the back, Hannibal lingers near the front. He steps close, quiet, and listens to the sound of voices.

Miss Lounds sounds terrified, and while Will's voice is calm, it is also threatening. Will begins to hedge that there is an explanation - something that makes Hannibal still - but then, quite suddenly, there is the sound of a gunshot, of a scuffle, of bodies impacting against one another. It is a din of sudden violence and Hannibal tracks it up until the moment the door bursts open ahead of him.

He catches sight of Miss Lounds' wide, relieved gaze as she sees the snow ahead, sees her car out front. Then, just as quickly, he notes the horror in her eyes as she races past him and his hand shoots out, catching her first around the wrist, and then around the throat.

Hannibal is quick. He pins her arms and quiets her would-be-screams with a blow to her throat that he then grabs hard enough to keep her quiet. He drags her back inside the barn, ignoring the struggles, the way her boots slide against the floor, the way she tries to grab, to kick. Once inside, he nudges the door closed and then looks over at Will, who seems stunned to see him. Hannibal regards him.

"I believe this belongs to you."

* * *

And then it's not just the two of them, but there's three. Hannibal has subdued Freddie. His hand is clasped firmly around her neck, prohibiting her from screaming. She does fight, but Hannibal is stronger and well-practiced in these things.

"Thanks," Will says tonelessly. He wipes at the pepper spray that's hit his cheek. Freddie's fear reeks. Pungent and loud -- just like her.

Hannibal being added into the mix is not good. Will makes sure that his mask of indifference is firmly on his face. He doesn't let his fear show, he doesn't let his indecision crop up. The last time he'd seen Hannibal was over that infamous dinner with Alana...

Will straightens and considers his options. If Hannibal is here, he was likely following Freddie. Hannibal had likely planned on killing her, too. She's been getting too close, after all.

There are weapons at Will's disposal. This is on Will's territory, he does have the advantage... but as Hannibal regards him, Will knows that he doesn't _want_ to kill Hannibal Lecter.

He _should_ , but he doesn't.

Will steps closer and considers the pair. Feisty Freddie fighting tooth and nail and Hannibal restraining her without much effort needed on his part. Hannibal's hand holds firm around her throat. He doesn't break her neck. Will assumes Hannibal is going to grip until she loses consciousness.

"I suppose we have a decision to make," Will says as he meets Hannibal's eyes.

It would really be so much easier if he wanted to kill this man.

* * *

Only once does Freddie's hand escape Hannibal's hold, but he is quick to grab it again. He needs only to lean away from her flailing, clawed hand, to once more subdue her as he squeezes her throat but not enough to shatter the hyoid bone or break her neck. Holding her in place is an effort, but she is already tired from her apparent scuffle with Will, and Hannibal takes full advantage as he regards Will over her shoulder. It must be quite the sight. Will is panting, his eyes wide, and Hannibal can smell adrenaline on the air between them, outside of the stink of Freddie's fear.

Will had wanted to talk to her. To explain. Now, as Hannibal looks at him, at the careful mask that Will lowers down, he has to wonder... but he says nothing on the matter. Instead he allows Will to recollect himself, to wipe the pepper spray from his cheek. There is sawdust and wood chips clinging to his clothing - he had fallen to the floor at one point, then - and Hannibal considers him carefully, scanning the picture he makes to ensure that the gun had not actually injured him. To Hannibal's satisfaction, Will appears fine.

"It appears that we do," Hannibal replies. His grip tightens on Freddie's throat until her face goes as red as her hair. "This was really quite foolish, Miss Lounds. I have pardoned your behavior before, but this goes beyond mere rudeness. This is indignity. You really should have remained at your hotel room."

There's a quick flicker of a smile on Hannibal's lips, something that holds amusement that only he will understand. He holds her tight, and - over the next few seconds - her struggling begins to lessen. Hannibal sees the fear of understanding in her eyes the second before he lifts his own to Will's. In less than a minute, Freddie's legs buckle and Hannibal catches her under the arms, his touch gentling upon her throat. He sniffs dismissively.

"I would not concern myself with her escape. You were doing quite well up until the end."

* * *

Hannibal being injected into this situation snatches away what Will had _hoped_ to do. He can no longer seek to defuse Freddie, to explain Jack's plan and his involvement in growing closer to Hannibal. Even in this tense uncertainty, Will doesn't feel like the walls are closing in. His pulse has begun to even out and steady and he sees Hannibal's eyes look at him as if checking to see if he's unharmed.

Broken toys are no fun, after all. That's Will's first thought until he sees a glint of relief in those darker eyes. It's an uncomfortable observation. Perhaps Hannibal is more human…

Will makes no move to help Freddie Lounds. He watches Hannibal handle her with practiced ease. He can't help but think of Miriam and Beverly, but the anger for Bev has almost burnt out. It feels cold, instead. Freddie's eyes are wide as she struggles and Will feels a stirring of satisfaction that her actions _have_ tightened this noose around her throat. It was one too many clicks of her shutter...

This isn't a feeling he's supposed to have, but she's a parasite. He knows that she has a number of enemies, a number of people _she's_ burned; she's destructive too.

Hannibal practically chides her and Will has to glance down as he feels the beginning of a smile threaten to creep up on his face (and he knows it's inappropriate to smile while Hannibal is choking her out). Hannibal doesn't let her fall, but the words Hannibal gives _him_ make Will snort.

It sounds like Hannibal is attempting to offer him encouragement, as if Will could be _discouraged_ that he hadn't been able to apprehend her. He says nothing about this so-called unsolicited piece of support. Instead, Will pulls over a dusty wooden chair for Hannibal to set Freddie down on.

"You bring anything to tie her up? Or should I get rope?" Will asks.

* * *

While Will looks away from him, Hannibal does catch the flicker of a smile upon his lips. It's there and gone, shielded from Hannibal's view, but it gives him a quick sense of satisfaction that Will can appreciate such comments. Given how dire the situation almost was, that Will can find humor in anything is a boon.

Hannibal turns his attention away from him reluctantly, refocusing upon the limp body in his arms. However, before he can instruct Will on what to do, Will's soft snort draws Hannibal's attention back to him.

Hannibal watches him pull out a wooden chair. He smiles, and while the sight of it just barely twitches the corners of his lips, it reflects clearly in his eyes.

He drags Freddie over to the chair and deposits her against it, guiding her head to the side so that the weight of it doesn't strangle her before they can address this situation. Then, regarding the chair, Hannibal stands back up straight and nods, rolling his shoulders slowly to shake off the slight tension within them.

"I have cable ties in my car. If you will mind her, I won't be a minute."

They don't have a lot of time, after all. Hannibal hastens to where he'd parked the Bentley. In less than a minute, he returns with the ties in his hands (and syringes in his pocket). He then tests the chair's stability. Deeming it old enough to be sturdy even against a rush of adrenaline, Hannibal takes one of Freddie's hands and firmly binds it to one of the legs of the chair, then hands Will two ties so that he can follow Hannibal's lead.

He bends to remove Freddie's boots, then binds her ankle to another chair leg, cinching it snugly, but not enough to fully cut off circulation. Only then does he glance back up at Will, at the expression upon his face.

"I am curious. What would you have said to her, Will?"

* * *

Freddie won't stay unconscious for long. They'll need to properly restrain her unless one of them simply goes and deals with her immediately.

But Will has the feeling that Hannibal would rather have words than action. Hannibal has always been a wordy bastard. Will doesn't know how much Hannibal had heard either... Had Hannibal heard him try and reassure her? If Will asks, Hannibal would likely become (more) suspicious.

Hannibal isn't cruel in how he handles Freddie and places her in the chair -- it would be rude, after all. Will says nothing as he 'minds her' after Hannibal excuses himself to gather cable ties, apparently.

Will stares at Freddie's unconscious form. "You should have stayed away," he whispers, eyebrows furrowing in displeasure.

While he's used to Hannibal forcing his hand, he's not impressed with Freddie taking up the mantle. He wonders what it feels like to be free of such influence -- to simply _be._ Will says nothing else and when Hannibal returns, Will is no longer scowling.

They make quick work of tying her wrists and ankles to the chair. He's not surprised by the question posed to him. Will is fairly sure Hannibal _had_ heard him attempt to talk her down. Will straightens up and looks at Hannibal.

"I would have told her that I had only killed Tier because he attacked me, but had cut him up and stored pieces of him out of necessity," Will begins, voice sure and composed. This is a dangerous game, but Will thinks a version of the truth will be the best answer to go with. "I would have claimed to be using him as a means of getting closer to the Ripper. You know, provide some meat for a change."

* * *

Hannibal listens, and as he listens, he allows himself to imagine the conversation that might have unfolded. He can follow the journey, like spun gold, or a scent trail, leading from one dark path down another. As Hannibal straightens once more, he looks down at Freddie Lounds, at the deep bruising already present along her throat. Then he draws away from her, quietly admiring the nearly-peaceful picture that she makes when he has ascertained that she has once more begun to breathe. This will not be a kill that he will be able to display.

"A succinct story, and quite believable," Hannibal answers lightly. The look he sends Will is sidelong, but there is a weight behind it despite the casual gaze.

There is suspicion in his eyes. Randall Tier _had_ been a necessity. And it is quite feasible that Will might have truly been planning on attempting to deceive him.

But Will had also nearly killed Ingram. At present, though Hannibal does not wish to think about it. Will Graham is a pendulum mid-swing. He merely does not know which direction that Will is trying to swing. It is inconvenient.

"You are aware that she cannot be allowed to live," Hannibal adds conversationally. He reaches into the breast of his jacket and withdraws two syringes, both partially-filled with an opaque liquid. The look he sends Will is as casual as the others have been.

"If you'll permit, this will make transportation easier. I assume you do not wish to kill her here, but I am not about to intrude. This is _your_ kill, after all."

* * *

Will knows that the story is believable because it's the truth, save for the usage of the word _claim._ Hadn't that been the road he'd set himself down? Help Jack, make Hannibal pay. You know, put the bad guys away... To the catch the Ripper, he needed to be the bait, needed to reflect Hannibal's darkness back at him. He needs to be a tantalizing wriggling worm that can't be ignored.

Clark Ingram had cast doubt, though. It had been Will who had wanted to kill the man, not Hannibal. It had been Will's hand drawing up his firearm and pointing it. It had been _his_ eyes judging and deeming Clark fit for execution. Clark Ingram had highlighted Will's own lurking darkness and the realization has clung to Will ever since that revealing night in the stables.

Hannibal had stopped him and prevented the death, had prevented Will from killing. Afterward, Hannibal's hand had come up to his face and cupped it like a lover. Will hadn't even pulled away. He should have, but he hadn't. He remembers the feel of Hannibal's palm and fingers, warm and sure. Hannibal had been delighted as he'd talked softly of caterpillars and chrysalises.

He doesn't look delighted now. Hannibal looks light, a calm surface, but underneath Will sees the wariness, the fucking slime of suspicion coating Hannibal's insides.

Will is unmoving, his breath steady as Hannibal casually mentions that Freddie cannot be allowed to live. It's true. Will's eyes track Hannibal's movement as syringes are pulled out from a coat pocket. Will knows it's not poison. It's not Hannibal's style.

_'I assume you do not wish to kill her here, but I am not about to intrude. This is **your** kill, after all.'_

A dazed groan comes from Freddie; she's beginning to rouse. Will steps closer to Hannibal. He's not thinking as his gloved hand comes to Hannibal's forearm and grasps.

"She could be _our_ kill," Will murmurs, an eyebrow arching in suggestion.

* * *

History dictates caution in this instance and yet as Hannibal looks at the bound form of Freddie Lounds, he wonders if it is something he must heed. Will's explanation makes sense, but it had come to him with such ease that Hannibal almost suspects the worst. He doesn't wish to, but is it safe to trust Will Graham? Had he not promised a _reckoning_ in the end?

Hannibal gazes down at Freddie, then allows himself to look to the beast-suit hanging in Will's shed. Randall Tier had been a reckoning of his own doing. Perhaps this is Will's design.

He is quiet as he looks at Will, though Hannibal finds himself slightly surprised that Will has stepped in so close to him. Usually it is him closing the distance between them, reaching out to touch, to manipulate, to control. He watches as Will sets a hand upon his arm, feels the pressure through his gloves and imagines the heat through his coat. Hannibal wets his lips, thoughtful, and Will's suggestion makes a low, sweet ache slide through his body.

It is the perfect temptation, the idea of seeing Will be who Hannibal knows he can be. And yet... is it an intelligent idea? Hannibal wants it to be.

"And you would do that?" He queries, his voice lower, weighted. He is not so simple to deceive, though he hopes that is not Will's intent. "Share your victory? Hold the knife and watch her bleed? I admit, I am tempted..."

Hannibal trails off, glancing over at Freddie. It takes him only seconds to look back at Will. "But I believe she has done far more to wrong you. You are _owed_ this, I should think. Have you any spare cloth?" He adds, idly. "She will be awake soon, and it might be prudent to gag her."

* * *

This is playing with fire. Will knows it and yet he's not backing away. If anything, he's throwing an accelerant on the damn fire, teasing the flames higher. He knows better... The last time he was this reckless he had got Beverly killed for playing. But Freddie Lounds is no Beverly Katz. Unlike Bev, Freddie _deserves_ this. Will knows it. Because some people are better off dead than alive -- the world is better off. Some people are too dangerous and destructive to be allowed to roam and have their way...

Will hasn't initiated touch before. Hannibal knows this and it's with this fact between them that Hannibal looks contemplative. Will has reached out to the flames - to Hannibal - to the Chesapeake Ripper, who is destructive and who shouldn't be left to his own devices...

And yet emotions are not reasonable. Will's emotions scream that killing Freddie would bring more satisfaction than killing Hannibal. What would be left for Will if Hannibal was gone? Hannibal has already torn through his life, Will has felt the effects personally...

So Will suggests and not even he knows how much of himself is on board with it. There feels like there are many lines drawn in the sand and Will is trying to carefully maneuver without tripping a land mine. He jumps for Jack and he slithers for Hannibal.

Hannibal's voice is low and heavy, his words both searching and hopeful.

 _"You_ have wronged me," Will says before letting go of Hannibal's forearm and turning to procure a dirty dish towel that will be able to be used for a gag.

He ties it on Freddie himself, Hannibal assisting when necessary. "If I'm not to kill you, I think bound in a shared kill is the next best thing. Either way, she needs to be brought back to your place and I need to feed my dogs and let them out."

* * *

Will's words are like fire, a sudden spitting heat between them that Hannibal cannot help but acknowledge. He regards the metaphorical flames impassively, though as he does, he cannot help but see Will's point. Much as a part of Hannibal wishes _Will_ to kill Freddie, wishes to see Will's brutality, to lock him into this moment... he can understand the catharsis of Will's words. He can understand how killing _with_ him is the next-best-thing to killing him. If Hannibal understands one thing, it is the psychology evident between them.

He watches as Will finds a dirty cloth and while Hannibal would have spared Miss Lounds more dignity than that, he cannot help but admire the slap Will's choice implies. He steps in behind their captive and reaches out, holding her head steady for Will as he ties the makeshift gag around her head, settling it between her teeth. By now, her eyes are open, though they are merely confused slits of uncertainty. Her body is awake but her mind is still silent. It is quite an interesting position for her to be in.

"Very well, then," Hannibal replies. He will no longer argue on this front.

Instead he takes one of the needles and removes the cap, delicately inserting it into the back of one of her hands, where her wrist bends. She makes a small sound, an unhappy murmur, and Hannibal strokes the pad of his gloved thumb over the injection site with a low hum in the back of his throat, almost soothing. Such a vast difference between he and Will, undoubtedly shown in how the both of them feel about Miss Lounds. Hannibal's enjoyment of her content is no longer worth the risk, however. He will enjoy killing her.

"If you will mind your dogs, I will take her to the car. It is across the street, parked behind the small grove of trees. You may join me once your pack has been seen to."

* * *

Yes, of course, Hannibal would love nothing more than Will unleashing his rage upon Freddie. He would observe and delight, a proud parent watching their child's soccer game, witnessing them score their first goal. Yes, Will killed Hobbs and Tier but they had been necessary -- one an attempt to save Abigail and the other in self-defense. This would be killing in cold blood. Can Will do it? Should he? He's already tying a gag around Freddie's mouth.

It should be harder. It should tear him up inside, and yet it's more like uncomfortable indigestion. It's _manageable._ Surely this is Hannibal's dark influence having crept over him...

There are ways out of this, it's still salvageable. If anyone could entrap Hannibal, Will could. He's closer than anyone else is. Hannibal is not so cruel as to deny Will taking care of his dogs. Will could text or call Jack. That could get things into motion. They could catch Hannibal in the process... But then there's the evidence of Tier in _his_ house...

Things have gotten messy. Messier than Will would like. And there is no guarantee Hannibal wouldn't react poorly and just slaughter Freddie _and_ him.

But does he want this game to be over? For Hannibal to be carted off and locked up? A part does, a bitter shriveled-up part that thinks Hannibal suffering will somehow ease his own pain (but Will's really not too sure about that).

He pays no attention to Freddie, her eyes open but clearly dazed. This moment is Hannibal's and his. Freddie is a mere object in their vicinity. Will is aware of that cruel line of thinking, but it's Hannibal who commands his presence. It's Hannibal who is, undoubtedly, interesting.

Hannibal agrees, for now. It could be up for debate later. Will's currently-unlocked barn is not the place to dispatch Freddie. She will be brought to Hannibal residence, to where Will knows there are rooms fashioned for killing and dismembering. For harvesting meat. For creating meticulous art. Will doesn't flinch when Hannibal injects what is likely a tranquilizer into her wrist.

They part. Hannibal will likely have a knife to cut the cable ties (and then bind her wrists and ankles again once they're free of the chair). Will is still oddly calm as he tends to his dogs. They're oblivious to their master's darker thoughts. They eat happily and Will pointedly doesn't look out his window for Hannibal.

Will wonders what it would be like to have fewer cares... He could blame Jack or Hannibal, but it's Will who had agreed to work the Hobbs case and get the ball rolling. He's put himself in this position. After being released, he could have moved. Changed names, changed occupations. But he hadn't. He hadn't been able to let Hannibal go.

He spares a glance at his cell phone but leaves it. He walks back to Hannibal's waiting car, the snow crunching under his boots. Will climbs in and does up his seat belt.

* * *

Hannibal is aware that this is a risk. Will could retreat and call Jack, could play his hand right now before Hannibal forces his own, but there is a thin thread of hope - of trust - that even yet buoys him up. While Will retreats into his home in order feed his dogs, Hannibal turns his attention on the rather pitiful shape of Freddie Lounds. He knows that allowing Will to leave is foolish, but what is hope if not faith? Hannibal had lost his faith in a higher power, in a deity, in _God_ long ago. He has yet to lose his faith in Will Graham. What is faith if not blindness in the face of uncertainty, after all?

Hannibal unbinds Freddie's hands with quick flicks of a scalpel in his pocket, and while she does begin to moan sluggishly and try to move away, it takes him very little time to subdue her. He massages the injection site at her wrist and while he does see a brief flicker of panic in her eyes, it is gone the next moment as lucidity ultimately fails her.

She slumps against the chair and Hannibal finishes unbinding her hands and ankles. He takes new cable ties and - after stripping her of her belt and patting her down for hidden pockets or implements that she could use to escape - he binds her hands behind her back and then binds her ankles together. Careful not to jostle her too much, mindful of the gag in her mouth, Hannibal then lifts her up and sets her over his shoulder. And, mindful of the sound of her breathing, Hannibal glances at the chair and decides to leave it as it is. Instead he lifts her purse and takes it with him as he carries her to the car.

Hannibal sets her in the trunk, on her side. Arranging her head just so, he slips his gloved fingers under the gag and over her tongue. With quick, efficient movements, Hannibal guides her tongue down under the gag to keep in in place so as to ensure she does not swallow it during the trip. Then, only after double-checking that she is properly bound, Hannibal closes the trunk and sets her purse in the back seat. He will turn her GPS off when they reach the city.

When Will joins him, Hannibal watches him climb inside the Bentley. Hannibal settles in beside Will and makes quick work to pull back out onto the main road. He wonders - quite achingly - if there will be a police presence at his home when they arrive.

He doesn't mention it. Instead he reaches for Freddie's purse and then hands it to Will, taking a moment to retrieve her phone.

"Once we reach the heart of Baltimore near the numerous exits, please turn Miss Lounds' phone off and remove her SIM card and battery. We do not wish her last-known location to be here."

* * *

Will hasn't taken his cell. Will hasn't tipped Jack or the FBI off either. There would be too many unknown variables to try and rush and involve law enforcement. This should be a private affair. It should only involve them.

Will finds himself feeling oddly possessive over Hannibal. If Hannibal considers people as toys for him to play with, Will would like himself to be the _only_ toy occupying Hannibal's attention. Unlike the dinner with Alana, there should be no more sharing.

Hannibal had driven him to the stables, Will determined and hopeful that he could help Peter if possible... Will he be helping Freddie? Once again, Freddie Lounds is no Peter Bernadone. Freddie is trash and she's in the trunk, knocked out and bound. It doesn't seem so incredulous, as if Hannibal's presence is somehow pacifying.

Will takes the purse and fishes out Freddie's phone before reaching back and placing the bag in the back seat. He has no plans on holding her purse for the duration of the car ride.

The roads leaving Wolf Trap are familiar. The Bentley is familiar. Hannibal is familiar. Yet this journey is not. He has a choice to make, but Will wonders if he's already made it.

They don't speak during the ride. Hannibal doesn't ask if Will has betrayed him and Will doesn't offer up that he hasn't. At least not yet.

When Hannibal's car pulls over before a busy sector of exits, Will handles her cell phone. And just like that, they resume driving back driving to Hannibal's residence. The length of the drive has afforded them darkness, which, you know, helps with transporting a fucking body. Hannibal pulls around to the back where there is a private garage and, quite comically, a secret door that leads into his basement.

It's chilling to see where the madness is let out to frolick. They walk down a long corridor until Hannibal signals for Will to enter a room to his left. It's clean and meticulous, exactly what Will would have expected. It smells of of bleach and disinfectant.

Freddie's laid down on an operating table that contains straps for her wrists and ankles. Once more, the cable ties are cut, only for her to be bound again. On a stainless steel counter with a sink there are trays containing various sharp implements, some medical in nature, others cruder but still highly effective.

Will steps over to the counter and looks down at what's available. He hears Freddie begin to stir, but he doesn't look back to regard her or Hannibal. Instead, Will pulls at his scarf, loosening it, and then starts on his jacket. He lays both pieces on a free spot on the counter. No point in getting blood on them.

"Shall we?" Will asks, selecting and picking up a scalpel. He turns back to Hannibal.

* * *

Hannibal does not say a word on the drive back to his house in Baltimore except a quiet instruction for Will to handle Miss Lounds' phone. It takes another twenty minutes to reach Hannibal's house from there, and Hannibal is quite certain that Jack will be left chasing his tail on Freddie's disappearance for quite some time. Assuming this goes the way that Hannibal wishes it to - the way he _hopes_ it does - Will is going to be as deep in this as he is. No more ifs, no more reasonable cause. Only becoming.

He is aware of the danger when he arrives at his home and he leads Will inside. No one has ever seen his basement and lived to tell the tale. It does not escape Hannibal that this is a _vast_ instance of trust, but seeing as there are no FBI agents present upon arrival, he is willing to give Will the benefit of the doubt. So instead he instructs Will inside and retrieves Freddie from the trunk. Her eyes are half-lidded in a drugged state, though a quick check to her eyes is enough to tell him that she will be regaining consciousness soon.

It does not take much effort to carry her to the basement, slung over one shoulder, mindless of the cross-contaminants that must be littering her by now. While Hannibal would display her with pride, this is not _Hannibal's_ kill. He is curious to see what Will might do. So he binds her to the stainless steel table in his basement. He straps her down and checks her circulation, and then he reaches two gloved fingers under the gag in her mouth to once more make sure that her tongue is in the position it should be. All in all, it takes him very little time to strap her in, and as Will quietly divests himself of his scarf and his jacket, Hannibal tilts his head. He looks at the picture Miss Lounds makes against his table, her hair fanning out and red like fire.

Removing his gloves one at a time, Hannibal reaches up to unwind his own scarf and take off his jacket. Then he walks over to the counter in the far corner of the room, withdrawing two sets of medical gloves. When he turns back to offer one pair to Will, he notes that Will has already selected one of the scalpels on the table.

Hannibal stills. His gaze scans over Will, over the artful image he makes. Then Hannibal rolls up his slate blue sleeves and ducks his head.

"I believe we shall."

He walks over to Will, setting the gloves down on the table as Freddie begins to stir. Hannibal slides his gloves on with practiced ease.

"Normally I would ensure a clean capture. One with no evidence. Yet this design suits you. Chaotic..." Hannibal comes to stand on the other side of the table, and when he looks at Will, his gaze is sharp with interest. "How will we kill her, Will? What is your design?"

* * *

As if this was a casual affair, Hannibal begins to roll up his sleeves. Will's seen him like this before while cooking. Will figures for a man like Hannibal who has countless victims, killing is similar to cooking in that it's routine. Will wonders how that would be - a god of death - unshaken in the face of carnage and corpses. _Thou shall not kill..._ Well, it's too late for Will, he already has. The law would excuse actions, but the mutilation of Tier... Not so much.

The murder of Freddie Lounds will not be excused either.

Will doesn't cower as Hannibal walks back over to him and places a pair of medical gloves down. The scalpel is light in his hand. Will's hand isn't sweaty, nor is it tense or shaking. He could turn and attack Hannibal.

He doesn't. Instead, Will listens to Hannibal describe his design as chaotic. Will can't argue with that label. His life has felt steeped in chaos for far too long. Hannibal steps away, relocating to the other side of the table. Will looks between the gloves and Hannibal's face. He forgoes the gloves. He's not Hannibal. He doesn't want them.

_'How will we kill her, Will? What is your design?'_

Will's eyes track to Freddie's face. Wide fearful eyes look back at him. Her panic is only beginning to set in as she becomes more lucid and takes in her environment as best she can. Her limbs sluggishly attempt to break free but it's futile. Freddie won't be skittering away from this scoop.

"Lets cut her carotid," Will states. "She... was messy," he adds in way of explanation. Will takes half a step closer as his hand rests against her forehead and forces her head to the side, facing away from him. Will lifts the scalpel, hovering it a foot above her head.

"Guide my hand, Doctor."

* * *

In the end, Freddie Lounds has done this to herself. Will _had_ attempted to warn her time and time again that he was dangerous, and yet she hadn't listened. Truly her fate has long been in her own hands. Yes, Hannibal will miss her writing, but how fortuitous is it that he has Will by his side, a man able to so elegantly slip into the cracks of any psyche he has witnessed. Already Hannibal knows what he will do. Beyond killing her, they must keep her alive, must create a trail if they do not display her.

Will can get into her head. Hannibal can get into her style. Together, if just to keep Jack guessing, they will write in her stead.

But that is not important _now_. Hannibal regards Will as he forgoes the gloves, leaving them where they are. On the examination table, Freddie is quickly waking, her eyes wide and darting as panic rises within her. Hannibal breathes it in, the scent of her fear, and yet his attention is not upon her reaction but rather on Will. And when Will reaches over to direct her head down and when her muffled cries fill the room, Hannibal feels a quick twist of something hot and welcoming in his chest. Belonging.

"She _was_ messy," he confirms.

Hannibal watches as Will steps in close. When he prompts Hannibal into guiding his hand, Hannibal feels the words slice through him like they are being carved into his skin by the very scalpel that Will holds. He swallows and he feels an odd blissful shudder slide through him. It is not one he ever feels while killing on his own. Yet like this... with _Will_... the sight of him, standing tall and proud, the conviction in his eyes... It is beautiful.

"Together then," Hannibal murmurs, and reaches out.

His gloved hand touches the back of Will's and Hannibal feels the aching warmth through the thin film. Then, after a pregnant pause, Hannibal reaches down and quietly removes that single glove. When he touches again, he can feel Will's skin. It is sharply intimate.

It is together that they have started this and together that they will end it. Hannibal guides Will's hand down amidst the wild sound of Freddie's screams. She has spoken her last. No more silver tongues, no more golden words. Hannibal doesn't so much as look at her, instead sharing the glance with Will.

Then he feels the resistance. Freddie's muffled screams grow louder, and Hannibal guides Will's hand slowly, feeling each second of the touch. And it is as Hannibal watches, his gaze bright, that the first arc of deep red blood sprays out and catches Will across the face.

* * *

A gloved hand comes to hold his. It's only a thin layer, but it's still a barrier between them. Will doesn't like it. His eyebrows pinch slightly, a frown threatens to form. Maybe Hannibal sees it, maybe he doesn't, but Hannibal seems to agree as he reaches down to remove it. There is relief etched into Will's face as the glove drops unceremoniously to the floor and Hannibal's hand comes, once more, to cover his.

Hannibal's hand is warm. Like it had been when he'd cupped his face after Ingram. Or when Hannibal had washed his bloody knuckles. Will Hannibal be tender when it _doesn't_ involve him being violent? Now is not the time to think on it.

This is a touch he's invited. It's meaningful. The gag muffles the screaming and Freddie's terror could slide over his senses and take over, but it doesn't. His eyes don't look from Hannibal's until Hannibal must direct his attention to the task.

The task is murder. And as the scalpel is directed to her neck - to the appropriate place - the noise dulls around him. He hears his own heart beat - steady - and Will wonders if their dark hearts are in sync. His vision focuses on a pale neck that is accented by flames of red in the background.

Not much pressure is needed for the scalpel to pierce and then cut. And then it's hot blood splattering on his face as they reach and sever the artery. Unlike the Hobbs' kitchen, Will isn't shaking apart. Freddie's struggle intensifies, but the binds do their job and Will's other hand holds her head with an iron grip.

There will be no more poking around for Freddie. She won't be tampering crime scenes any longer. She won't be manipulating and stretching the truth. She won't be getting under his skin. The world will be better off with her not stomping around in it.

When Hannibal feels Will's hand begin to draw away, he allows it. Will takes a step back, separating their bloody hands. The scalpel now feels heavier. Slippery. Freddie gurgles and shakes, but Will isn't interested in her. He walks around the table and comes to stand in front of Hannibal. The blood is threatening to drip into his eyes so he wipes it as best he can with the back of his hand. He tastes Freddie's blood as he breathes deep. His heart has started to race.

Will raises the scalpel to Hannibal's neck.

* * *

Freddie Lounds is but an insect who had needed to be squashed. Hannibal has no care for her as he guides Will's hand. It might be Hannibal's instruction but it is Will's touch, his intent. They are killing her together, but more than that, _Will_ is involved in a murder that he is not strictly required to commit. No one would cite him trying to cover up another crime as evidence for self-defense.

This is in cold blood, and so it is perhaps fitting that when the scalpel slices and blood spurts, Freddie's blood is hot.

Hannibal watches, awed, as Will stands against the gushes of arterial spray. Hannibal gets but a few stray drops on his hand and on his forearm and the sensation is not unpleasant. This is not how he normally kills; arterial spray is messy. Yet somehow it _fits_ Will. Everything now fits him. His shroud, his person suit, his desires... Hannibal watches, a thrilled shiver sliding up his spine, and he sees the tectonic shift beneath Will's feet. No longer innocent. No longer justified. _Becoming_. _Powerful_.

It takes time for Freddie's body to begin to go into shock over blood loss, but they have no need to hold her there any longer. She will not escape, and Hannibal will clean the room so perfectly that no one will ever find a trace of this sour woman. Yet as he lifts his hand away from Will's, feeling blood slide hotly over his skin and drip down his arm, he feels almost heavy with the weight of what they have done. Of what _Will_ has done.

Certainty tastes like sweetness upon his tongue. So even when Will draws away - as Freddie's gurgles take a hitched tone - he does not question it. Perhaps Freddie had deserved her final words, but such a thing had not been Will's design. It is something that they can now work on together. Just as Hannibal has seen Will kill, so too has Will seen Hannibal do the same.

The scalpel pressing against his throat makes Hannibal go still, his thoughts suddenly casting off like snakeskin as shock instead registers clearly. He blinks, and yet as he feels the cold steel against his skin, feels the slickness and warmth of Freddie's blood, he does not draw away.

Instead he looks at Will, at the blood smeared so beautifully over his face. When he swallows, he can feel the near-bite of the scalpel and the feeling threatens to shatter him.

"You look beautiful," Hannibal whispers, feeling oddly content with the blade at his throat.

He has been seen after all. He has been _accepted_. Will has not only _seen_ him, but allowed Hannibal to see him in return. If this is the end, if Will chooses to betray him now, Hannibal does not think he will feel robbed. To live long enough to see such aching perfection is the true gift. So as Will stands there, Hannibal looks at him fondly, drinking in his fill of what might be his final moment with this man. He does not care.

* * *

Will knows just how sharp and deadly the scalpel is. He's recently experienced its efficiency in opening up a neck and bringing forth blood (and ushering in death). Garret Jacob Hobbs had cut open his wife's throat. He'd attempted the same with Abigail. Will wonders how Hannibal killed her. Was it brutal? Was she terrified? The flame of bitter hurt tries to grow, but it's difficult. Will is tired of feeling hurt, of feeling like a victim.

Hannibal claimed that killing had been changing him. In this severe moment, Will is inclined to agree. While he had been focused on the blood spraying forth, Hannibal had been watching him. Will had felt it. Had known. Of course Hannibal would be watching. This is him breaking free of his chrysalis, tempted out by Hannibal's honeyed whispers and coaxing -- by the promise of companionship.

Maybe it had been inevitable. This darkness within him had been waiting to bleed out and stain him. He'd fought it. He'd agonized over morals, over doing what was right, struggling against his empathy and instability. Hadn't a part of Will secretly wanted his colleague's stamp of approval (or at least sanity)? For Jack to not regard him as a necessary tool? For Alana to realize that Hannibal was actually the monster?

It hardly matters now. Blood has his grey henley sweater sticking to him. He hadn't bothered rolling up his sleeves. There will be no body to be found so there will be no evidence to incriminate him.

While Hannibal had guided his hand, Will had picked the scalpel and selected where to cut. It is a shared kill.

Hannibal blinks. There is surprise in his eyes but not fear. Hannibal does not move to try and wrest the weapon away from him. They regard each other. Will's hand does not shake. He does not advance the blade.

Three words are whispered to him. They are not a plea. They are not a threat. They are the truth. Hannibal's truth. And as Will looks, he only finds peace and acceptance within Hannibal. He only finds affection and contentment. (Love?) Will's mask of indifference slides off his face, falling to the bloody floor and crumbling. He flinches as if Hannibal has wounded him.

He moves.

And instead of the blade digging in, it remains still against Hannibal's neck. It's Will's feet that shuffle slightly closer and his head that presses forward. It's their mouths meeting in a wet, bloody kiss.

It's not taking a life that has changed him, it's Hannibal.

* * *

Each breath could be the last, but Hannibal does not count them. There is no point. If Will's mind is made up, Hannibal will not attempt to change it. Not now. Not when he is such a vision in the harsh light of the basement. Not when his face is streaked with red, Hannibal's very own blossoming rose, fragrant, rich, beautiful, and deadly. Is there a better final sight to behold? Hannibal doesn't think so. So while he feels the thin bite of the blade, while he knows that this could be _it_ , he does not move away.

If Will kills him, he will find Abigail upstairs. If Will doesn't - if they leave the basement together - Hannibal will invite him to clean up. Then he will make the introductions himself.

Will has earned her. Will has proven himself. Will has taken a life, has chosen him fully, and now if he does twist this and attempt to take Hannibal down, they will surely crash and burn together.

Hannibal does not know what Will reads in his eyes. Fondness, pleasure, awe, perhaps? (Love?) Whatever he sees seems to nearly wind him, as the mask of calm indifference crumbles. Hannibal has a moment to bask in the sight of such beautiful confusion and agony and then Will moves.

Truthfully, he expects the bite of a blade, the cold steel sliding into his skin. Hannibal does not expect the sudden wet slide of lips coated in blood. He does not expect the warmth to Will's kiss, nor for it to press so forcefully to his lips. Hannibal does not tense; somehow this is not a surprise. It is only the scalpel at his throat that keeps him from surging into the shared taste of blood and power, but not even the scalpel can keep him from lifting a pious hand to Will's cheek.

Hannibal fits his palm there - ungloved and bloodied - and he presses against warm skin and bloodied stubble. Hannibal cups his cheek like a lover - for is that not what they are now? Is this not akin to a lover's vow?

Hannibal kisses him back, welcoming the sharp tang of blood between them. Will doesn't hurry to kill him.

Perhaps he won't. Perhaps - in a few days, or weeks, or months - Hannibal will take them all to Florence. Perhaps they will continue to hunt and kill under Jack's nose. Or perhaps everything will fall apart in a haze of blood.

Whatever happens, Hannibal clutches Will closer now, kisses him deeply. He tastes freedom and excitement on Will's lips. It is everything he has wanted for him. For the both of them.


End file.
